


Red hair and smoke

by heartbeathurtsnomore



Category: Original Work
Genre: Art, Drama, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-06 00:25:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartbeathurtsnomore/pseuds/heartbeathurtsnomore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To capture a soul through a lens is the most beautiful and painful form of art.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A frog among bulls

First time he saw her he thought she had been touched by fire. The cloud of smoke cleared and there she was.  
Her veil of red hair was a shocking contrast to the black of her clothes. A goddess she seemed, speaking to him with the emeralds of her eyes. He has waved at the smoke around to get a better view but by then she had turned back around, losing interest. He ordered another double and faced the bar, rolling his last cigarette on the word surface. He kept his eyes on the mirror in back of the bar watching her from there. She was bored of everything, sitting there pretending like she heard her company's talk, her pale hand twirling a strand of red hair.  
He felt beneath the men around him. Tailored, well brushed and charismatic. While he was a bit unsure, a little held back and much too observant. She would never notice him. He felt like a frog among bulls, ribbiting his way through their polished stampede.  
Bringing his cigarette to his lip he lit it up and took a drag. He saw her slip out of her chair and slowly walk away from her table. Her body didn't move, it swayed to the music her breath created. She was fire. She was art. A goddess to his frog servant. He was ridiculous.  
He pulled money from his worn wallet and laid it on the bar. Getting a wave from the tender he decided to brave the night. Usually he got more drunk than this but her face in his mind was worth more than the distortion of alcohol.  
He looked about the streets, wishing he didn't have to go back to his uninspired apartment but knowing there was nowhere else to go. He wished there would be a miracle or two left for him but it seemed the golden age of the city of angels had since ran out.  
"You were watching me."  
His breath stopped and his fingers stopped twirling the ring of keys.  
He turned around, pulling his cigarette from his lips and braved meeting her eyes. Her face was more than the dark bar had given him. Her full scarlet lips glistened in the silver night light. She stood there, brilliant jewels as eyes and fire in her hair, leaning back against the wall. The black of her dress left everything to his imagination but the sight of her pale legs drove him nearly insane.  
"I was." He replied with a nod, pushing his brown hair off his forehead with his palm. Did she see it shake?  
"Why?" Her eyes were curious. She was looking for something as when searched his gaze.  
"Because. You fascinate me." He thought of leading her back to his studio. No props, no direction. Just her and her intoxication.  
"What are you? Some kind of artist?" The sound of her voice sent chills up his spine. The fact that her breath danced on the same wind sweeping past him was unbelievable.  
"Guess you could say that." He let out smoke after taking another drag off the cigarette. "I'm a photographer."  
She gave something of a smile that simply twitched at the corner of her lips. "And who am I?"  
He drew his bottom lip between his teeth and wondered if there was a wrong answer or even a right one. He contemplated asking her name but the mystery made her all the more alluring.  
"You're red."  
She lifted her hand to touch at the hair over her shoulder and this time she did smile. So damn brilliantly like the silver linings of a midnight sky.  
He smiled too, stuffing one of his hands into his pocket. "You like that?"  
Her fingers let go of her hair and she pushed off the wall. "You want to shoot me?" He nodded. "I'm not sure what my husband will think of that." She lifted her hand to take the hair from her face when all she wanted was to show the ring on her finger.  
"It's just pictures."  
"Is it?" She gave him a teasing glance, her brows lifting.  
"Of course." He nodded as he took another drag.  
"Well then take my picture." She said as she stepped off the sidewalk and into the street. The street light illuminated her like a burning shadow.  
"How will I find you?" He called out ready to go after her.  
"I'll find you."  
"How?"  
She looked back at him. "Maybe I've been watching you."  
Her words echoed past him as she walked away. He stood there transfixed, intoxicated and feeling a burn from the fire she had just lit.


	2. A frame for a soul

He eased his nervousness with a shot quickly chased by another. Everyday came with the hope that she would show up and every night ended with the realization that she never would. Her face began to blur no matter how fiercely he clawed at the image. She had become his breath, how was he supposed to live without that? He hadn't even picked up his camera lately, the undeveloped pictures he had getting dusty. Hell he wouldn't doubt it if they simply disintegrated.

He looked out the window and saw the whiteness of the sun struggling to remain despite the ashy clouds gaining dominance. He knew it was going to rain soon, usually the smell of it was enough to somehow inspire him but as of nor i really didn't matter. Rain could stay out there for the grass,, he would rather wither inside.

He threw himself back on the couch and lit up a cigarette, letting the smoke rise up above him. He saw her face in the gray ribbons, could make it out as it drifted upwards. He reached his hand up, grasping for the image he let form but all it did was slip through his fingers. With a heavy sigh he let his hand fall, mindlessly biting his nails as he let the uninspired atmosphere set in. 

She was a dream. He had always been a dreamer, that's what his father had told him. He needed to let go, get his head out of the draining clouds and get himself back to reality.

Just as he was thinking that a knock broke through. He tapped off the ashes of his cigarette, let it hang on his lips as he rushed to the door.

She stood there, her green eyes bringing him right back into the haze of dreams he was prisoner to. Her hair was up, curls dancing down her back. A trail of fire. She was beautiful in the black dress she wore, this time her pale skin burned straight into his mind, leaving its effect immediately.

"You came..." He breathed out as he stubbed out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray.

"I told you..I was watching." She smiled and her eyes became alive with a bit of playfulness.

"What are you doing here?" He wanted to retract the question but it had already been spoken.

She stepped closer, edging towards the threshold. Her scent washed off of her, dancing right into his sense. Wanting nothing more than to enrapture him.

"I thought you wanted to shoot me?" Her voice sounded almost innocent but the glint in her eyes spoke with all the alluring power she possessed.

He thought of his camera inside and thought of how glorious it would be if he got her beauty on film. He breathed out a smile and nodded. "I do."

"A frame for a soul." She whispered, reaching her hand out and touching a simply button of his coat.

His eyes followed her hand before she dropped it. "Are you asking for my soul?"

She smiled and gave a light shrug. "Don't I have it already?"

He held her eyes for a moment before a smile broke onto his lips causing her to let out a song of a laugh as well. "I guess you do." He replied, opening the door wider as he did.

She managed to halt her laughing, leaving traces of it on her face. She walked past him into the apartment. Her arm brushed lightly against his coat and he let out an overwhelmed breath. His hand gripped at the area, feeling the warmth she had sent there.

She was looking around curiously, her hand taking a strand o her hair and twirling it between her fingers. He watched ger with his heat stopping altogether. Nothing flowed blood through his veins, nothing was helping his heart work. It was like she was his only life source, standing there unknowingly sustaining him.

She turned on her heels and looked at him after drinking in her personal space. "Where do we go?"

He made a small gesture to her right where a door was. "In there." He led the way,glancing back at her to make sure she was still behind him.

They entered what was meant to be the bedroom that he had turned into his own studio. He had it set up for her already, his eagerness for this moment perhaps even outweighing his sanity. A black stool was set up in front of a gray backdrop, the color of smoke. Lights were directed in that area as was a camera set up on a tripod. Every cent had had made in his life had been put into this room. Everything in it was his life and here she was making it grow.

"Do I sit?" She asked. When he nodded she made her way to the stool and sat down, brushing down the lace of her skirt.

He let his eyes solely dwell on her for a moment. The imagery of her fire and teh backdrop of smoke amazed him. He walked to the camera, lifted it off the tripos and tried to decide how he wanted to do this. Once the decision was made he focused teh lens and took a few shots. He saw her how hesitant she seemed, how unsure of herself she was. His brows knitted and he pulled the camera down.

"What's wrong?"

She looked away for a moment, the stormy skies from outside reflecting a glow onto her face. She returned her gaze to him and folded her hands in her lap. "I'm not sure I should do this."

Carefully setting the camera back onto the tripod he knelt down before her and looked up into her eyes. "Why not?"

She sighed and glanced down at the ring on her finger. She knew how to play with words but when they developed into actions she was as innocent as her voice made her out to be.

"How do you think he'll feel about you already owning my soul?" He tilted his head a little, smiling a bit up at her.

She smiled too but still she stood. "I''ll come back." She whispered before walking out of both the studio and apartment and leaving him as lifeless as before.


	3. The Ghost of a Hermit

He could still see the outlines of the objects in the room whenever he turned off the light. He would turn them on again to let the light fill the room brilliantly. None of it made sense. The familiar ache that darkness left within the light and the remnants of brightness left behind.  
He stopped. Finding no more interest in something so pointless. Night had come and he was still unable to sleep. He remembered being told before that if you couldn't sleep than there was an owl living inside your head hooting away the hours. He never heard no damn owl but he was left with insomnia all the same.  
Pushing off his blankets he sat up and ran a tired hand through his hair. He walked across the room, biting his nails to keep himself from going insane. It didn't work. Guess he needed to look for a doctor. Straight jacket included.  
He took out a cigarette, lit it, and walked over to the window. Life continued outside. Quietly, violently, beautifully. He hadn't quite decided if he wanted to be apart of it or not, if he wanted the world out there that offered so much and gave so little.  
What did a ghost like him matter? What sort of world had room for a soul like him? He lived life through the lens of a camera, developing his soul into images with nothing but the prints to show him the way. He had no part in that world.  
The smoke cleared away from the glass and gave him the sight of the street below. He saw her before he even realized it.  
Her hair burned its color onto the nights dark but everything else about her said that she was also a shadow, one that didn't belong among the rest.  
He stubbed out his cigarette and walked to the door, opening it just as she came to stand before him. Her hands were deep in the pockets of her coat and the black hat she wore covered all her hair except for the few pieces trailing down her back. She had changed so much in the past few days and yet she was still so brilliantly the same.  
"You either read my mind or you've been thinking of this moment the same as I have." He hadn't heard his own voice since he he had last seen her. Damn, he had even become the ghost of a hermit.  
She smiled and pulled both her hands from her coat. The brim of it shadowed her eyes and yet the green of them was more brilliant than anything he had ever seen. "Are you going to let me in?"  
"Will you take the pictures now?" He knew that even if she didn't sit in front of his camera he was going to let her in.  
She lifted her hands and took the hat off her head, giving him full view of the beauty she possessed. "I will." She walked past him into the apartment turning around to face him once he shut the door. "Have I changed?" She asked it as if she had something to be worried about. She held her hat in her hands and waited for his answer.  
He walked to her, looking down closely. "Not at all." He said, lifting his hand to touch her face but thought better of it and dropped it.  
"How long have you been in here?" She looked over his pale complexion, a glint of worry in her eyes  
"I'm a hermit. An artist. We don't go out." He laughed a little and shrugged his shoulders. "I'm a ghost now."  
Amusement replaced the worry she wore. "I never believed in the supernatural."  
"You should. Never know what you'll see."  
She smiled at what he said before she turned away and went straight into his studio. She looked around briefly before untying the sash of her coat. He watched her set her coat down. She's married. He reminded himself. Or tried his best to.  
He took his place by the camera, lifting it again. She settled herself onto the stool, uneasily smiling up at him. He wondered what it was she was so hesitant about. Was it really the ring on her finger or was it him? This hermit who felt like he could see into her soul?  
"What do I do?" She asked, tucking fallen strands of her hair behind her ear, the diamonds there glinting with her movement.  
He sank his teeth into his bottom lip and just watched her doing nothing at all. She must have been some kind of angel. But what cruel person had managed to clip her wings to make her this unsure about herself?  
"Anything...." He whispered, putting his eye to the camera. He saw her as the print would be. Vulnerable, lost in the smoke singing behind her. Her hair a flame making the world burn. Had she been the one to set it or had it been unknowingly lit?  
She seemed to flinch at the first snap. She tried to settle back into herself but then it came again and she nearly jumped out of her skin. He noticed how tense she was and so he set down the camera and went to her. Just like before he knelt down before her. She looked down at him with a nervous swallow.  
"What are you scared of?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.  
She sighed, finally brave enough to lift her hand, her fingers smoothed a part of his hair near his ear and her eyes held the blue of his the whole time. Abruptly she pulled her hand away. "Of you. And that camera." She replied with as much fear as if she had seen something terrifying.  
A breath of a laugh escaped his lips. "Why?"  
She pressed her lips together and looked over all the tatters in his coat. It took her awhile but she finally met his eyes again. "Who knows what you see?"  
He studied her and her answer from beneath his brows and tried to find something to say. "Do you want this to stop?"  
It ran through her eyes as she thought about it but she shook her head. "No." She replied, her hand lightly grazing his shoulder.  
And that was enough to send him back behind the lens..


	4. Right into Ashes

It continued in the same way for several days. Her coming over, passing a bit of small talk before she sat in front of the camera again. Seeing her everyday drove him insane. Her face burned its perfection into his mind, overwhelming him and giving him a whole new meaning to living. She showed the fire and inspiration that the world outside lacked. Hers was the perfection that the darkness had chased away. He supposed that she had been much too brilliant a fire to put out.

He had tried to change the backdrop color but the haunting imagery that the gray created was too hypnotic to ignore. She intoxicated him more than he had ever thought possible. He had been caught up in women before, their beauty entrancing him but it was never this way. Her eyes spoke a million words that her lips never uttered. How she sat was both modest and so perfectly alluring. Sometimes a smile came upon her lips, sweetly forming at the corners of her lips. She kept her distance though, that ring acting as some kind of barrier between them. The last time there had been any physical contact was when she had so delicately smoothed down his hair. He could still feel the effects of his pulse quickening. It had been the last time and it still burned through him turning him right into ashes.

He watched the hands of the clock tick away the elongated minutes even though she came at the same time everyday. Every time before she arrived he felt overwhelmed with anxiety over the thought of her never coming again. Yet she was there, every day, her presence assuring him that he was being allowed to stay alive a little longer.

He drew on his cigarette, letting the smoke sing our from between his lips. He wondered if he looked ridiculous, more groomed than he usually was. It had been entirely last minute the idea to impress her. He finally allowed himself the curiosity of what kind of man her husband was. He wondered if he was one of those polished bulls he had been surrounded by before or if he was cookie cutter sweet. He knew somehow that he was nothing like himself, disheveled, maybe a little broken and strangely obsessive. And so he had slipped on a vest over his messily worn white shirt. He had thought of a tie but had thrown out the idea. Buckling his belt over his black pants, he laced up his dusty shoes just as he heard her knock sounding on the door. He took another pull from the cigarette, hoped that he didn't look too much like an idiot before rushing to the door.

She had just taken off her sunglasses when he looked down at her. She looked him over, an expression struggling on her lips. One of interest or amusement, he wasn't sure. She reached her hand out to him again and flattened the corner of his collar. 

"You look nice." She said, withdrawing her hand and tucking her glasses into her coat.

He held his hand out to her but she simply walked past him with neither coldness or a dismissal. It still felt like a rejection though but he swallowed it down, shut the door and followed her into the studio. She was looking around like she was expecting to see something.

"Missing something?" He asked from where he stood in the doorway, leaning against the wall.

She seemed to jump at his voice as she turned around. "None of the pictures are ready?"

He shook his head, pushed off the wall and took his place at the camera. "Haven't found the right one."

She nodded, seeming to understand but not knowing at all what he had meant. She shrugged off her coat and set it down in its usual place. If this had been anything else it would have gotten so routinely boring. She sat on the stool, fixing her hair as if it was ever out of place.

One shot came and then another before he stopped. He let out a sigh and moved from the camera. His frustration startled her.

"What's the matter?" 

He looked at her a moment before going to her. "None of this is right."

"What would be?" She was looking up at him, vulnerable, unsure, secure..

He pressed his lips together, pushed his hands back through his hair before he began to circle the stool. He could hear her breath quicken, could feel her nervousness crawl over his skin. 

"Turn around." He said and almost immediately she listened.

He knelt down, his hand reaching out and touching to the thick straps of her dress. She froze but he didn't falter. Gently he tugged her straps lower on her shoulders and all his breath left him. Her skin revealed there left him nearly dizzy that he had to step away. She was still covered but then way it danced along the lines overwhelmed him.

She found his eyes and searched them for answers. "What are you doing?" She asked , her lips parting, her breath drying the glisten on them.

He didn't answer he just took up his camera and took several shots. The image of her there so perfectly intoxicating in her vulnerability it was too much. He saw her eyes glass over, tears quickening in them before she finally rose up and grabbed her jacket. She muttered something about home before rushing out.

He stood there transfixed by the previous moment until it finally registered that she was gone. He brought himself out of the daze , grabbed his keys and rushed out.

The dampened sun hit him like something had just exploded right in front of him. He found her standing below his apartment. Her eyes followed him as he got on his motorcycle. He swallowed down his nervousness and glanced back at her. "Wherever you want to go." He said softly which brought her to sit behind him, her arms delicately wrapping around his waist. Whatever intoxication she offered sent him into her hands and right into ashes.


	5. Diamond in the grime

The night began to rise leaving the day like a million rats seeking an escape. The cool wind whipped past then and he felt her press herself closer to him. He tried to pay attention to the road and no to those delicate arms wrapped around him. He could feel her almost as if she had crawled up inside of him. Everything that she presented to him made his sense heighten. He saw the night and felt the day. It was almost like she had managed to make so little mean so much. She managed to enrapture him without once trying. Unless all of this was part of her brilliant intention. A woman with a plan. She just didn't seem that way, she was far too neatly wrapped up. Women were deceiving though, that was so often the case.

He pulled his bike over to the side of the road to a stop which made her climb off. He followed, dropping his keys into his pocket and tucking his hands in afterwards. She looked around, not bothering to fix the mess of her hair that the wind had caused. She looked so beautifully disheveled., even the dress she was wearing was wrinkled at the hem.

"Where are we?" She asked, turning to look at him curiously.

"Nowhere." HE replied, taking a cigarette from his coat. "everywhere."

She glanced upwards, finally pushing the hair from her face. "It might rain."

He lit the end of the cigarette, took a pull and breathed out the smoke. "Does that matter?"

She looked to him, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. She still had that glaze of nervousness in her eyes and yet everything else about her had loosened up. Which should he trust?

"I guess it doesn't." She said with a shake of her head.

She smiled a little and walked to where he stood. Where they were there was little to see and yet it seemed so beautiful. All it was was water, stretches of it floating on like an never ending jewel. It was almost bewitching.

"Is this your "place'?" She asked, daring to step closer to him, their arms barely touching.  
"My Place?"

"To think, reflect. They say everyone has one."

"I don't think." She looked confused at his words. "I see."

"That's beautiful."

"Is it?" It's just the truth."

"the truth is always beautiful."

He smiled around the cigarette. "Not when the is when a ghost reveals he's dead." Droplets of rain began to gall, he felt them working on dampening his hair.

"But you aren't dead." She tugged lightly at his coat to get him to face her.

"What if we all are? And we just haven't noticed it?"

"Would we feel the rain if we were?" She questioned, a drop forming as a pearl on her lashes.

"imagination is a strong thing." He spoke like he had thought this over. He had. The constant search for purpose and reason. The only time he ever felt alive was when he was behind a camera, and here, right in this moment. She was looking at him. She saw him. It was impossible for the living to see the dead.

"Imaginations are dangerous. Her voice reached above a whisper just as the rain began to fall harder. The red of her hair became wet, the vibrance was dampened and yet nothing could extinguish it's flame.

He shook his head silently as he tossed the cigarette to the ground. He lifted his hand, gently touched her face. She closed her eyes on the stroke of his fingers, her breath whispered out from her parted lips. Lifting his other hand he carefully took hold of her face and stepped closer. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and she sighed, her hands held onto his coat almost desperately. He moved his kiss to her cheeks, to her closed eyelids, the sides of her neck. Her skin was slick with rain, he could taste the water on her face, felt it moisten his lips. Her grip on his coat tightened once he hovered his lips before hers. Her eyes opened at the feel of his warm breath.

"Take me home." She softly ordered, pressing her hand to his chest and gently pushing.

He watched her walk back to the bike and get on. Heavily he sighed and pushed a heavy hand back through his hair. Had he messed up? Taken advantage of her being so close? Or had he let his imagination run away giving his lost self further reason to hold on? Either way he had messed up. She didn't want to stay. Maybe she was scared of him? Maybe the world was her theater, her was her stage and the whole thing was an act?  
It didn't matter. He wanted her. Needed her. Mind, body, lips and soul. He wanted that fire that managed to light up inside of of him. Where had it come from? Who had given her permission to light something so out ragingly brilliant? She seemed impossible to be real. Like a diamond out in the grime. Misplaced, rare and undiscovered.

She asked him to drop her off several blocks away from her neighborhood. Peaceful, modern, and not at all the tiny mess he lived in. Why did she come everyday? What drew her back to that dark studio, those nervous poses and that click of a camera?  
She said nothing. She just got off the bike and walked up up onto the sidewalk. He started up the engine, wanting so badly to go after her, tell her that she didn't have to leave. But she glanced back at him, those emerald eyes meeting his in the ashy rain. The both of them completely drenched. He pushed back his dripping hair and read the look in her eyes. The warm look that said she would definitely see him again which sent him back to waiting for her again.


	6. A Lamb to the Wolf

He opened his eyes due to the heavy knock on his door. Groggily he pulled himself up and threw it open. She stood there, scarred by last nights rain and wearing a burning look in her eyes. He could tell by the near lack of light and the heaviness in her eyes that the morning was still a newborn. He hadn't been expecting her, this was horurs away from her usual time. He wasn't sure what to say.

Slowly she lifted her hand and took the cigarette from his ear. She placed it on his lip and smiled. "I walked...couldn't sleep."

His brows furrowed before he took a flame to the cigarette. "All night?"

"All night." She nodded with a bit of pride.

"Are you insane?" 

"As insane as you?" She smiled a little. "It didn't feel finished today, earlier." She walked past him into the apartment, the scent of rain clinging to her skin.

"What doesn't?" He questioned, closing the door and releasing the smoke.

"The pictures." She threw a glance at him from over her shoulder. She knew what had crossed his mind. What had happened before he had taken her home.

"So you think we should finish now?"

"If you're not still asleep." She laughed a little and disappeared into the studio.

He sighed, pushed his hair from his forehead and followed after her. A lamb to the wolf. But which role belonged to who?

She was sitting on the stool already when he entered. Her hair, although wet, was still that trailing fire that burned in his mind. She flashed her eyes to him, emeralds lacking the rest she missed but still the most powerful gaze he had ever stared into.

He walked behind the camera, trying not to lose himself in her presence. He rubbed at the tiredness clinging to his eyes and set it up. The smoke from his cigarette filled the air and ash burned at the tip.

She was looking off, waiting for him. How unaware was she? How much did she know of her affect on him? How much did she know of how she controlled his thoughts? A part of him told him that she knew everything and yet continued to play off of it. And yet the other part said that she was oblivious to everything. And then there was that small part inside that hoped she was feeling as captivated as he was. Captivated by the feelings eclipsing between them. The world that disappeared within these walls. The loss of a soul when their lips had been so close. Perhaps she was aching like he was. Was that what was growing in her yes every time she looked at him? Was that what intoxicated him so greatly?

"Ready." He said.

She seemed to snap out of her thoughts and she looked to him. She gave a nod and it began. For someone who had never done this sort of thing before she captured the camera with a kind of sedation that would bring the world to its knees. She embodied the hypnotic allure that was unattainable and lusted after. She exuded the innocence of her own seductive qualities. A simple tilt of the head, a fallen strand of hair, parting of the lips, movement of her hand. She was what everyone dreamed of and sometimes he had to remind himself that she was real.

"Anything good?" She asked after awhile, looking away from the camera and into his eyes.

He gave a breath of a smile and nodded. He wasn't sure how it was possible to smell the delicacy of her perfume so strongly, even over the powerful scent of his discarded cigarette. She overpowered everything.

"So is that all?" She stood up, smoothing out her skirt but retracted back to the stool when he shook his head. "What else?"

He held up his finger for her to wait as he set the camera to a timer. He pulled a cigarette from his pants pocket before moving towards her. She seemed to stiffen when he stood behind her and set his hands on her shoulder. A snap went off, she startled.

"Relax." He whispered down into her ear, the hair on his face brushing lightly against her cheek.

She let out a breath and looked up at him. Her eyes held his and this time she didn't flinch when the camera took another picture. Harshly he swallowed, his fingers tightening on her shoulder. She ran her tongue across her lips leaving them parted as a breath escaped them. She blinked and yet that didn't break the stare that sucked away the power from inside the both of them. She lifted her hand and gently slipped the cigarette from his fingers. She opened the palm of her other hand and he knowingly placed a lighter there. She set it on her lip and just as she ignited the flame another picture snapped. The fire lit up the liquid green of her eyes and set the end of the cigarette aflame. She dropped the lighter and pulled it from her lips, lifting it to his. His brows lightly furrowed as he accepted the taste of her lips sending a dizziness coursing through him. He pulled it away, letting it hang between his fingers, the smoke dancing around them. She felt him move closer to her , the warmth of his chest pressing against her. She sighed at the feeling, at the feel of his hand on her shoulder. His eyes breathed out down to her, the blue intoxicating her as she sat there. The both of them unsure of what was supposed to happen.

Another picture snapped.

He lowered himself, wrapping her closer to him and he, without hesitation, kissed her. Her hand brushed up the back of his hair, deepening the kiss. The ribbons of smoke leaving behind a trail of ash from the fire inspired and another picture snapped.


	7. Tourniquet to the wound

He slowly pulled away, the kiss lingering on their lips and hanging in the air. Emerald met sapphire in an intoxicating stare. Their breathing stood still, their hearts stopped beating, their pulses ceased. They lived only in the kiss they had just given, they existed only in their closeness to each other. Her scent washed over him, his breath danced towards her. Neither of them heard the picture snap or saw the ash fall to the ground.

He made the first movement, dropping the cigarette in his hand to the ground and stubbing it out. Ashes crushed beneath leather. He saw her swallow harshly, nervously and hi lips pressed together. She lifted her hand, her fingers whispered up to his face. Her kiss glistened on his lips and the effect struck his eyes. Meaning eclipsed between them and they needed more. They inwardly gasped for it. Now that they had tasted it it was all that sustained them.

She touched her fingers to his bottom lip and he closed his eyes. Lightly he kissed them, drawing a sigh from her.

"I should go..." She whispered and as she did she sounded afraid.

"You think we're finished already?" He spoke in such a low voice it surprised him that she could hear him. A million possibilities raced through his mind. Possibilities of what would happen if she stayed. That was what he yearned for. A drug to keep his addiction going. A tourniquet to his already bleeding heart.

"I think it should be." She replied, backing away a little from the warmth of his body.

He wanted to protest, but her eyes held an unrelenting halt. All he could do was give an exhuasted nod. He stood straight, trying not to go back down to her and take what he needed. He pushed his hand back through his hair and gave her a smile.

"no one's holding you hre." Did he sound bitter? He hadn't intended to.

She rose to her feet, noticing the frustration in his eyes. "You let me know if those aren't good." She said, trying to suppress a rising smile.

"I'd rather have your opinion." He leaned back against the wall, watching her intently as she made her way to him.

"Sometimes what we want isn't always what we should have." She stopped a mere inches from him. The closeness tore his breath away all over again.

"Said the tourniquet to the wound." He was looking at her, so many questioning building up behind his lips. Would she ever release him? Did he even want her to? Would this ever end? His desire to be forever in her captivity? This endless cycle of waiting on her hand and soul? Had she any intention of setting him free? Of allowing him to breathe something other than the all consuming atmosphere she created? Had she any knowledge of the chains she had locked so tightly?

Lightly she pressed her hand to his chest, her palm warm where his heart was beating.

"You think this isn't driving me insane as well?"

"Is it? I didn't know." He watched her lips, wanting to capture them with his again. Wanting to feel the way her breath hitched at the contact.

She nodded slowly. "It is...absolutely."

"Then why let it go on?" He wanted to feel her, place his hands on her but he wasn't sure what boundaries were left. Had there ever been any boundaries?"

"Its all for the art."

"The art?"

"I'm just the muse, you're the creator. So create. How does it end? What do you take from it? What are you left with? What are the reasons? What is the aftermath?"

He was trying to read her features but she gave nothing away. A face wearing a mask that bore no answers.

"Its all up to me?"

Again she nodded. "When you're done, it's done. When the art is finished, it's all finished."

"What are you talking about?"

She let a smile crack her emotionless face. "Go create." She ordered, tracing one of her fingers along his jaw. "And I'll be back."

"Then what?" He questioned as she stepped back from him.

"And then all of this retreats. I become an image, you become a lens. We go back to who we were."

He let out a confused laugh. "You aren't making sense."

"Oh but I am." She replied, turning away from him.

Another picture snapped as she walked out of the room.

He stood there a moment. Having counted three more snaps. He wondered about what she had said, what is had meant. How was it all up to him? He felt the least in control of all that was going on.

He walked to the camera, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it. Carefully he took the camera into his hands and he closed his eyes.

What is the aftermath?


	8. Muse for the Shadows

Three whole days passed and the only time he got to see her face was when he looked at the developed pictures. Being apart from her tore a hole inside of him. It ripped him open, making him bleed internally. He felt locked away, chained to the sorrow he was now living with. Hen was succumbing to the darkness he found himself in. He felt like he was detoxing from a drug he couldn't live without. He saw her everywhere. He even as her now as he lay awake as he awoke to the rainy night from the ashes of a broken sleep.

He had blown up all the shots he felt were right. They adorned his walls, her eyes watching him as if she were actually there.

Was this upset he was left with? Developed images and a memory scarred with lost intoxication? Was this what he was expected to live on? Drowned out words and forever lost touches. He couldn't think straight without her nearby. He couldn't even seem to breathe. Didn't she feel that from wherever she was at?

He had thought to go down to her neighborhood, it didn't even matter if he didn't know which hours was hers. He saw himself pounding on each door, calling out to her to stitch up the wound her absence had created. But that would cause an world of trouble for her, he didn't want that.

So he suffered in this agony, smoking pack after pack, drinking more than me ought to. He was in a haze. He started to wonder if she had been real. He was starting to doubt the reality that was beginning to blur. What if he had made it up? Something to fuel a deprived mind.

No. She was real. As real as anything else. No. More than that. He couldn't live off something his mind made up. He couldn't be sustained off his imagination. She was faded though, those days gone and already an eternal memory. She had left him in darkness, his soul a flickering light on the walls. She had become a muse form the shadows.

He tore his eyes from the pictures and took up the keys to his bike. He headed out the door, then rain ceasing allowing him to stay dry and he drove out to that bar he had first met her at. To relive it made it more true. To be surrounded by it made it more real.

He entered the chic bar, glanced at done up girls and flashy men. He didn't belong here, not with his wrinkled clothes, messy hair and a cigarette burning to nothing on his lip. He didn't care. He still ordered a double and sat at the bar. He searched the dark atmosphere for this emerald eyes to look back at him. He looked to the same table but he didn't find her.

He was on his third drink when he figured it was a good time to get going. This wasn't doing him any good and the weather wasn't going to wait forever. He tossed money onto the bar and made to get up but was held in his place by a he wavy hand.

"Stay. Next one's on me." Spoke a bear of a voice. He stood there, a glowering figure. Dominant and smiling. He looked familiar. He must have been one of the people at her table that day.

"You trying to poison me?" He questioned, lighting up another cigarette and setting it on his lips.

"If I wanted to kill you I'd just use this." He moved away the fabric of his shirt revealing a gun tucked into his pants.

"Nice hardware. You really gonna waste your time on the likes of me?" He smiled around the release of smoke.

"You're the photographer."

The words hit him like a stinger to the flesh. Who the hell was this?

"I'm a photographer, yes."

The bear nodded. "Figured. You look too be the only hermit in here."

He rose from his chair., the alcohol racing to his head causing him to started a bit. "I don't take kindly to insults. Especially not from bears in a bar."

The bear wasn't impressed. He looked him offer, his brows crunching together. "Come outside for a moment. I'd like a word, the rain is perfect at this time."

He shook his head. "Not if you're using that." He pointed to where the gun was trucked away.

"I don't use it on the likes of you." 

He watched the bear leave the bar before he followed after, having no choice. He wished he wasn't so clouded but he knew it would pass. He could hold his alcohol, it was just lack of sleep.

The rain was falling, drowning out the street sounds. He shivered and hugged his coat to him,. The bear was standing near his bike, his arms folded across his chest. 

"What do you want?" He fingered the keys in his pockets, hoping he had enough time to get on his bike and get away.

"I want to see them." The bear stated, his voice coarse.

'Them?'"

"The pictures of my wife."

The rain soaked them both. Falling down and washing away the residue of expressions. But it didn't do either of them any good. He wasn't sure what to say. Did he admit it? Did he agree?

"Yoiu'd best get on that bike." The bear warned, his hand glistening with rain as he reached for his gun. 

He nodded hurriedly and pulled out his keys. He got on and the bear followed. The tires sent up a wave of water as he tried not to drown. Or perhaps that would have been better.


	9. sharp as swords

He hurried into his apartment, the bear following behind. The gun was as sharp as swords at his back. He wasn't quite sure what was going to happen,why this had walked right into his life. The front door was pushed shut and he turned to face the angry man. He wanted to think this bear was all growl and no chomp but his finger looked awful tempted to pull that trigger.  
The bear urged him into the studio and they both stopped at the same time. He kept his eyes lowered, not willing to get lost in that fire again, not with bullets ready to kill him.  
The fire was the only color, that and the burning ash of his cigarette. Her lips were parted, her skin was silk. Their kiss was immortalized, sparking the trail that led to the smoke behind them. It was dreamlike, gritty, poetic, downright grave. The night was alive in the film, breath scattered across the images. It drew in the soul, they sank into the depths of the picture and became whole in the feeling that created it.  
The bears eyes were glued to the pictures. He took in a breath, let another out. He tucked his gun back into his pants and finally looked at him again.  
"I'm the husband"  
He did everything he could not to freeze. There was his wife displayed gloriously on the wall, tainting the hues with a timid sensuality. Her beauty stole life, captured heart beats and captivated minds. This was his wife but to who did she belong?  
"Husbands are dangerous types." He stated as he searched for a cigarette in his pants.  
"We are. Especially to ghosts like you."  
"Ghosts?" He sheltered the flame as he lit the cigfarette, letting the smoke dance away and encircle him where he stood.  
"Yeah ghosts. Men who fall into the roles that involve lust and art."  
He settled back against the wall, looked up at the bear confident behind strands of hair. "It isnt art. It isn't me."  
"I suppose you're right."  
He was surprised to hear that admission. His brows tensed together as the cigarette burned through its fragrance. "I am?"  
"Its her. I know. Just glancing into those eyes is enough to captivate any man."  
He wondered as he stood there how many times this bear had gone this route. How many men had he pointed that gun at only to accept the fact that it was her. He didn't want to ask.  
"But I wouldn't say its her-"   
The bear laughed a throaty laugh. "But it is. Not even sure she knows."  
He didn't answer. He just drew the cigarette to his lips and took a pull. "You going to kill me?"  
The bear smiled and shook his head. "I'm not a murderer. I've never even used this hardware."  
"Then what?"  
"I wanted to see these." He lifted a sweeping gesture to the photos on the walls.  
He raised his hand to his mouth, letting the smoke veil his vision for a moment. "You've known?"  
"I always do."  
"And what do you always do?" He swallowed down a blow of smoke nervously.  
"I want you to showcase them."  
Those words echoed in his mind long after the bear had left.  
Showcase them?  
Why would any man want photos of his wife showcased? These kinds of photos? But he had given him the order. Hen had set up the date already, all he had to do was show up with his work. He didn't give any reason why, he didn't say a damn thing. And then he left.  
He had to do it. Who knew when the gun would be ready to fire? His confusion didn't matter, an order was an order and the man had a say, didn't he? She was his wife. She belonged to him. That was what didnt feel right. She didnt belong to him. Her soul was in those pictures and he had taken them.   
His phone rang, taking his attention.  
"He came by....didn't he?" Her voice was the smoke that trailed after a blaze.  
"He wanted me to showcase them. The day after tomorrow."  
"Did you find the perfect ones?" She sounded hurried. Something was wrong.  
"They were all perfect."  
"Do it. Do the showcase."  
"There's no getting around that." Did he want this? All the details were still clouded. There would be nothing for him.   
"I'll be there tomorrow. We have to take one more." Her voice had softened. How did she look then? Did her heart clench with the need to see him?  
"Will you be at the showcase?" There was so much he wanted to say. Wanteed to tell her that his lips were still burned by her kiss, that his should was still branded by her absence. She had stolen him.  
"No I can't. But tomorrow." And then she hung up. The ending click was as horrible as the voice was delicate that preceded it.  
He sank back against the couch and drew on his cigarette. How was he going to survive until tomorrow?


	10. Diamonds Haunt the Night

He emptied the glass and allowed the drink an attempt at warming him but he was still so cold from his nerves. He wasn't sure what to expect once she got here. In spite of his anxiousness he counted down the hours.  
He went into his studio, lighting a cigarette and leaned back against the wall. The light of the afternoon flickered off the walls. He saw the photos through the ghost of smoke. She was surrounding him and he basked in it. The only thing he knew would be better was if she were there with him as she had been when she had allowed his lips to touch hers. He could relive that moment in each picture. He could see her intoxicating features in the darkened contrast. His heart ached looking at it, his soul bled with the need to be near her.  
How long had he stood there? A cigarette laying on his lips, the smoke whispering across his gaze. The gray morning gave way to a hollow afternoon that soon led to an inky night. He stubbed out the cigarette and s soft knock caught his attention. He opened it carefully, trying to catch his breath as he did.  
She stood there. Her hair draped over one shoulder, the hat she had previously worn in her hands. Her green eyes looked up at him as if she had been waiting as desperately as he had. Black eyeliner emphasized the color of her eyes. Emerald satin laying in an onyx case. She didn't wait for him to say anything, she just moved past him inside. He closed the door and braved looking at her.  
"I'm here." She whispered in such a strained way it was almost painful.  
He pushed his hand back through his hair that had fallen in his eyes and he closed the distance between them. He stopped though when she put her hand on his chest and shook her head.  
"One more." She reminded him, her eyes staying on his as he searched her face.  
He nodded, stepping back from her. She took hold of his hand, her delicate fingers interlacing with his. The dark from outside sweetened the feel of her skin, deepened the way he breathed her in. They walked into the studio and she left his side. He watched her move the stool aside and take the ash colored back drop down. She laid it on the ground before she unbuttoned the coat she wore. His breath stopped when he took in the way her body looked in her pale dress. Her hair and her eyes, they intoxicated him to the point of weakness. She laid back on the gray fabric, her hair all around her like dancing flames. Her eyes were alive and her lips parted.  
He moved to the camera, lifting it into his hands and looked down at her through the lens. He took dozens of shots before the last one one stood out to him. It was as clear as those diamonds haunting the night sky. She lifted herself up on her elbow, her hair fall in around her and her eyes alive with the darkened beauty and eternal allure of art. He took the pictures and lowered the camera.  
"Is that all?" She asked, laying back down again.  
He set the camera down and knelt down to where she laid. She looked surprised, overwhelmed by how close he was. He moved closer still until his weight pressed sweetly to her. He sighed at the feeling, at the way her breath danced on his skin,. He moved her hair from her face, holding her eyes as he did.  
"That's all." He replied with a nod.  
She lifted her hand, her fingers brushing through his hair, over his brows. She hesitated as she lifted herself up but he stole her kiss anyways. He lost himself in her touches, in the gentle caress of her kiss. He was mesmerized by her, by her lips, by the way her eyes filled with a million emotions. It was like his soul entwined with hers leaving only their ashes in its wake.  
The darkness of night echoed its quiet throughout the room, nothing but a gray sky could be seen from the window. He rested his head on her, her body delicately cradling his. She wished she could see the tattoos she had seen the outlines ofin the dark. The story of his life imprinted on his skin but the dark prevented her.   
Her scent intoxicated him and he was again lost to the fire. She had eclipsed the drug she had offered him in all those pictures.   
"I might never see you again." She whispered.   
"Knew you'd say that." He said, pulling himself away from her and laying on his back with a sigh. "And the showcase?"  
She let out a gentle breath and rose up, grabbing her clothes. "I cant go."  
"You can't or you won't?"  
She pushed a hand back through her hair and looked down at him. "This isn't a game." She sharply stated.  
"Then why does it feel like one?"  
She didn't have an answer for that because his words had stung her. The fragments that laid between them were the ashes of who she was and what she would leave behind.   
He pulled a cigarette from his pants and rested it on his lip. The flash of flame showed her the blue of his eyes before it whispered out.  
Not another word was spoken. He watched the outline of her body as she got dressed and when she clicked the door shut he couldn't stop the mist of tears forming in his eyes.


	11. Smoke Killed the Beast

The showcase came quicker than he had hoped. Sleep still clung to him and the weight of lost chances hung over him. He was a smear on the world by now, wallowing in self pity. He liked self pity though, gave him an excuse to pour that extra drink or to sleep until it was pitch black. Not quote a poetic reason but it was one all the same.  
He never wanted to get out of bed, the memory of her in his arms was all that replayed in his mind. Those silken lips, those delicate hands, those jeweled eyes. That voice that had whispered she loved him, whispered that this time was different t. That hair that left him charred remains. Was this the aftermath?  
She was what haunt red him, calmed him. She had destroyed him, bit by broken bit. She had pieced him together, misshapen piece by misshapen piece. She had looked up into his eyes, ran her fingers through his hair and gave him a reason to create. She hasn't merely inspired him, she had set his soul aflame with lulling flames he yearned to aggravate, if only to keep them burning. She had looked into his soul from the other end of the lens, grasping it and making it pulse like never before.  
Had it really been different? He told himself it had been if o my to keep from going insane. Had it really been a plan? One that stole from art and morphed it into a destroyed and fractured thing? No one could deceive art. Art was honesty. Whatever it painted on a canvas, taken in a photo, placed on film. By some divine power it was made that way and he was glad for it.   
He wasn't sure what was planned for the showcase. He had drank enough to numb himself but he was still able to think straight.  
He halted his bike, got off and fixed his jacket. He pulled open the door to the gallery and forced himself inside. He wasn't getting anything out of this. The bear had gotten all the rights but he didn't care. He didn't want the money. He didn't want anything.  
He looked up at the pictures, all unmarked by the artist, including him.  
She looked down at him from each image. Each one creating a different woman. Most dulled her. One idiot had even had the stupid idea of shadowing her face. That was the power of her. The seduction of her eyes, the language of her lips.  
Then he saw his own works and he noticed the difference. The way her eyes glistened a little more. Her body spoke more than any other in the room. She was alive. She called out through the lens, begging him to release her. It had all Ben different. It really had.  
"Red hair and smoke." A man said, short, Asian.  
"What?"  
"The tile of the showcase. Red hair and smoke." The man repeated, looking up at the last picture hen had taken of her. "None of the pictures matter just this set. She's alive here, whoever she is."  
If it had been any other moment he would have been proud but his soul had sank away.  
He took a cigarette from his pocket, set it on his lips and took a flame to it.  
"That will kill you. That fire you just lit."  
He shook his head. "Its not the fire that kills you." He began as the smoke danced in front of his eyes. "Its the smoke."


End file.
